


Quell the Fire

by chimneysmoke (recension)



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 09:55:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/recension/pseuds/chimneysmoke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Katniss/Haymitch, am I just like you?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quell the Fire

**Author's Note:**

> For the _Girl on Fire_ The Hunger Games LJ ficathon.
> 
> Original prompt: "Katniss/Haymitch, am I just like you?"

I'm drunk for the first time. Haymitch keeps pouring and I keep drinking because stopping means accepting the end and neither of us can do that. His hands don't shake so bad as the bottle empties, and for me the room is pulsing but neither of us stops.

We've said all there is to say. I've asked him to take Peeta's place in the Quarter Quell, even though we both know Peeta won't let him. He's promised to help me get Peeta to survive. We both agree there's no use crying over the fact that I won't be coming out of the arena a second time. When the bottle weeps its last drop, Haymitch lets out a loud whimper of displeasure, slurring something about more in a cupboard.

There's something I never expected about how victors understand one another. Other people don't understand the arena, the fear, the survival that kicks in. Other people don't understand the nightmares and the numbness. Maybe it's not all victors, but at least Haymitch understands.

The drink numbs reality, blurs every line drawn. When he returns to the table he clumsily settles in beside me. He unstoppers the fresh bottle with his teeth, spitting the cap off to the other side of the room before taking a large swig.

He dries his liquor-soaked lips with the back of his hand and offers the bottle to me but I refuse. Any more and I'll lose my stomach. He clunks the glass down on his table and takes a long sigh. "Maybe you should be getting home now," he reluctantly speaks. It's his way of warning.

I shake my head violently in disagreement, but it sets the room to spin so I stop after I've made my point. I feel, not for the first time, like a magnet drawn to where I'm supposed to be. When Prim was chosen, when I volunteered, the same feeling came over me. When Peeta and I held hands in the chariots at the opening ceremony of the Games, the same thing. Now my inner magnet is drawing me close to my mentor and I trust the instinct. I steer a hand to his jaw and turn his face before laying my lips on his.

Haymitch tastes sweeter than I imagine, white liquor and honey. His skin is coarse, but warm, and what happens next is not at all what I pictured walking into his home that night but I couldn't imagine it ending any other way.

He has his wits about him, amazingly, as he drags me to his bedroom barely breaking our kiss. Despite our drunken state, despite our ages, there is an inherit rightness about this. It goes without saying that I want to live my life out before I die. I don't mind death. Neither does Haymitch. But we both know I don't love Peeta and the act is wearing thin within our circle.

Since he seems to have his capacities better than I, he strips first before pulling at my clothes. He says nothing, asks nothing, only touches my skin and lays me down and spreads my legs and enters me quicker than I have a chance to consider the weight of this action. His hips barrel against mine. His lips press against mine. Our foreheads press against one another delicately as he starts to move with sloppy thrusts. He completes me, and leaves me empty, completes me, and leaves me empty. I cling to him.

It's over quickly, a few thrusts and his strangled cries and he's collapsing on top of me under his own weight and crashing mood. Given the circumstances of the night, I wonder if he's feeling like he's just made love to a corpse. But we've danced around this forever, he and I. I am the girl with fire and he has been stoking the flame since we met. He adores me, and it doesn't repulse me, and for now that's all I need.

He withdraws and lays beside me, both of us catching our breaths as the heat of the moment dissipates leaving us both shivering.

"I don't want you to die," he finally says, turning to look at me under a curtain of unwashed hair. My heart leaps as he says it, even though I know he's always meant it. I am his last real tether to normality, and when I'm gone there will be nothing stopping him from sinking. The true cruelty of the Games is this connection they force us all to make before ripping the bonds apart.

I wait until he falls asleep to find my clothing and leave his house. I have to face my mother, and Prim, so I try my best to appear sober and unshaken; I know I'm failing on both counts. 

With any luck Haymitch won't remember the night. But I know I'll never forget it.


End file.
